your glorious indifference

do i look mad?

two nights without sleeping, the white wall, the wooden ceiling, the exhaustion that swallows my sanity, wait, it's four-thirty-seven in the morning, a glass of wine maybe wouldn't hurt

cheap wine, a world that happens when i don't, my god, is life just this?

the lazy days that unfold, my inauthentic skepticism, the eagerness to exist

do i look mad to you? do i look insane?

don't answer

daughter of several mental breakdowns, i lack on so much

the pen without ink, the walls that tell me sad stories, Schubert playing in the background

i only write for those who don't exist anymore

i only write about loss, decay

i find reasons to cry, i spit words out of my mouth as if they were blood

my words don't even reach myself anymore

i clean my wounds with salt, i pray that a disaster hits me, i want to be on the edge of absurdity

do i look mad to you? do i look insane?

don't answer

the white disinterest, this grey and depressing city, the life that makes itself treacherous

foolish, reckless, half-manic

the heinous fear of living in me, of being alone with myself

i am not an ocean, i am not an indissoluble continent

my god, is life just this?

i only have this body

this tired, incoherently fragile, breakable body

i lose myself inside of me and i fall

into madness, into apathy, into oblivion, into indifference

i clean my wounds with salt, i pretend to understand why

i only have this silence, i only have this body

look again, do i look mad to you? do i look insane?

don't answer